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Stepping in the Isle
Drink Up! The Stepping Isle had been quite packed as-of-late. With every passing day, the war between Michael D. Shiguma and the Yonko had been nearing, and rumors had been piling up. The best place to acquire those rumors? A bar, of course! Over hundreds of gallons of alcohol were drunken revealing all of their emotions about the tumultuous conflict, blissfully unaware of who was listening. At the forefront of it all was the owner and main server of this grand Pirate haven, Kauim. But, like any other day in service, he went under the name Vodki Amartin, after becoming a character in a story he had written — a bartender that handled any manner of customer by shifting between aggressive and kind at the drop of a glass — through the power of his , the Suto Suto no Mi. Because they were at the top of a that could be reached with a knock-up stream, the clients the bar dealt with were normally experienced sailors. They could either be as calm as a pond, or as frustrating as a vortex. In either case, the bar was not a closed establishment. It actually covered a wide area, with plenty of outdoor seating options to appreciate the view and easily see the port. Another ship had made its way to the island, branded with yet another Jolly Roger. Amartin turned to look at the port as he was serving more drinks, his golden eyes briefly turning red, a sign of , to try and determine who his new clients were. His red hair, normally wavy and calm, spiked up for a moment in excitement as a grin crossed his face, before he went back to work. "Vohahaha, what a day!" He thought to himself, before continuing business as usual. Smell of liquor filling up the air. Voices of costumers, ranging to normal-chat to the typical jargon sailors utter when they curse someone who had beaten them in a poker game. The babbling and out of tune singin' of some idiot who'd already got his stupid ass drunk as shit. There was hardly a place Ban liked more than a tavern- the fighting ring, perhaps-, particularly those in the New World, where you are gonna meet all the kind of most interesting people. Though all some of the most dangerous. That wasn't the best place for Ban to reveal his mission: Stepping Isle had a damned reputation of being an haven pirates, scoundrels and rejects of society. Law enforcers of any kind were looked down worse than bilge rats, even those who had nothing to do with arrest and police stuff. Fortunately, Ban had his head well good on his shoulders: he came with a simply frigate, removed of all the insignia that could indicate his connection with Asha. From his boat to his clothes- a simply, purple leather jacket, leather pants and his bloody loved sunglasses- nothing could have distinguished him from your typical run-of-the-mill hooligan, sans the fact that his breath wasn't reeking of the tenth pint of rum. Yet. Ban strolled to the lunch counter, putting both his elbow above the board, made of mahogany. With a snap of his finger, he tried to capture to attention of the bartender. "Oi pal, gimme the best shot you've got in this dump. My liver's starvin' for a challenge". "One Liver Challenge comin' right up!" Indeed, the Stepping Isle had a shot dedicated to challenging the livers of the many gutsy individuals that came to the Stepping Isle. There weren't very many who could retain rational thought after this drink, let's see how this man in specs did. Amartin mixed in numerous drinks, from tequila to vodka, and presented a very small shot glass to the man. It was almost fuming with the amount of alcohol content in it, glistening with a neon red color. Whatever it was, it was not meant to be good for you. "Vohahahaha!" Amartin roared with laughter, "Let's see how you handle this one, mate!" Ban put the glass close to his lips to take a few sips; however, the beverage turned out to taste so damn good he drank all of it in a single gulp. Ban's cheecks turned red, few tears came through his eyes. He jerked so much he almost fell from his stoll. "THAT WAS BLOODY FANTASTIC, MATE!" Ban shouted. "This bomb could knock out cold an adult elephant! I want more of this, pal". Ban took some money from his chart to pay for the drink, to show the barman he was a fine costumer. Cause fine costumer's get their precious information quickly and smoothly. "Vohahahaha!" Amartin cheerfully responded to Ban's appreciation for the drink, looking at the money on the counter. Taking the cash with glee, Amartin raised his voice. "Oi Helena-san! We have a fine customer here! Can you get him something to eat?!" Amartin shifted his gaze back to his newfound customer. "Hey pal, what's your name? We've got to put you in the records for staying sane after that monster of a drink!" He asked, eager to cement this new customer's name in his mind. The aforementioned woman instantly appeared at the kitchen's window as her name was called. She cleaned her hands with a towel. Helena looked quite young for someone her age, forty, having white skin, black hair braided into several sets of small braids, though most of it was hidden by her bandana. Her shirt was white and had no sleeves, although, this didn't leave her unprotected from any dangers in the kitchen, Helena was much fiercer than that. Covering it, she had a black apron with the Stepping Isle's purple logo on its chest. "Right 'way, Amartin-chan!" Helena smirked at him, as many chefs shuffled in the background, more costumers meant more food to make, and she was eager for that. "Well, what'dya' want, boy?" She turned to glance at Ban, waiting for any response, of course she couldn't guess what the hell he wanted. "I'd like some good pieces of steak with rosemary and mashed potatoes, ma'am". Ban muffled, juggling the glass emptied of its mortal cocktail. "But, first I'd like to talk with ya' about your son, ol' Damon D. Draco". Ban has never been the type good at lying: while he didn't want to raise unwanted attention on his role and position, risking to caught while telling bullshit after bullshit wasn't just worth the effort. Damon's momma deserved to know everything as much as Asha needed to know where ol'Damon was gone hiding. He rolled over the right sleeve, displaying a three triangular bands tattooed on it. A typical tradition of Asha, the same symbol that ol'Damon used to show off a lot. "I dunno if you remember me, but I'm one of the Seven Deadly Sins, one of your son's colleague. My name Ban, and I am the current Sin of Envy. Our kingdom is risking a true disaster, and we need Damon's presence to avoid it. Safe and sound". Ban particularly emphasized on the final part, trying to sound as honest as could. Didn't want to make Damon's momma assume he was just there to lure her precious son in deadly trap, or somenthin' like that. Helena frowned at the request, "Oooh, y'got some nice taste, boy!" She instantly turned to the other chefs, tugging at her clothes, so that they could all prepare the dish. Only then, Ban's sudden comment made Helena stop with widened eyes. Who even was this man and how did he even know her little baby? With a sigh, Helena fully turned to look at Ban, having a dead-serious expression printed on her face, "Who-" As she was up to question him, his words beat her to it, that was really the mark of Asha. Instead of provoking even more surprise into the woman... one, just maybe, would feel a calm animosity coming from her. "Ahhh," Helena beamed, her eyes meeting Ban's, and touched the base of window, which had marble over it. She only knew the generation of Sins from nearly two decades ago, "So ya're one of those new fellas' sins, huh?" Despite her tone, her hand's grip got heavier upon the stone, cracking almost all of it. "What the hell do you want?!" The Chefs more at the inside exchanged glances, their faces pale as they quietly continued to walk, grabbing the ingredients and tools to make Ban's dish, as if nothing had happened. In truth, they've known Helena for a long time, and decided it was best to leave her for the moment. Most mothers defended their children until the end, and, Helena was one of those, at least in her own terms. If she deemed what something a child of hers did as wrong, she would smack them until the end of the New World, and make them learn from it. But... this certainly wasn't the case. Damon had passed by, even if briefly, a few weeks ago, and contacted her with the use of his powers, not even entering the estabilishment. Helena bit her lip and covered such action with her right palm, glancing down at her other hand. The honesty and sadness in his tone broke her back then, her baby didn't need to lie, it made her regret all those fifteen years she didn't give him, that she didn't stay at his side. All Helena just wished is that she could've done more. Recomposing her mind, her eyes moved to look at Ban once again, her hand leaving her mouth as her dead-pan expression was back. She would be sure to apologize to Amartin later on, "Well?" She was calmer this time, but even so, spat back at Ban. Looking at the gulp of saliva sliming on his left lens, Ban felt relieved he was wearing glasses. He didn't get angry, though: Ban was no fool to expect smiles and rainbows from the momma of the man his own country had been wanting on the gallows just a few days before. But, as sudden the shift was, those days were still over. Ariel's prophecy brought a radical change in the game, and the kingdom required its Sin's presence once more to not let everything fall into shit. "Please, just listen a bit, ma'am". Ban's tone was calm, deadpan, without a trace of animosity for the previous spat. "I too think the whole kingslaying affair is just full of horsecrap: you and I both know that Damon wouldn't be able to assassinate a flea in cold blood, let alone the beloved ol' king he swore loyalty to". Despite the Sin attached to Damon, he was one of the genuinely nicest people Ban's ever met. Damon was always humble, generous and polite: a good friend, a damn fine warrior and even damn finer cook. Ban and Damon were both men of the people, coming from and standing for the common folk. Their personal stories were so alike: both of them were talented warriors whose talents weren't recognized by uppity shitheads of the royal academy on some crappy basis. Both of them worked hard to get the respect they deserved, proved everybody who didn't believe in them that they were wrong as shit- though, in Ban's case, his own climb to the top involved a lot more of mooning, cussing and throwing bombs of pills at Royal Academy's walls. Ban was feeling kinship with ol' Damon, and had a special desire to help the poor bastard. "The current princess of Asha, Ariel, who's got some really bizarre clairvoyant powers, had just predicted serious shit coming for our country. A bonafide disaster, with yar son standing in the middle. To get to the bottom of this and perhaps save Asha's whole skin we need Damon's presence. Also, this might be the best occasion to reopen the murder case. We may find new evidence, dunno; we can discover who's the real culprit behind the ploy. Once ol' Damon returns to the fold, we can start to get his reputation back on tracks: yar boy will be seen as a hero again, as he really deserves. Believe me, ma'am: no one wants to help yar son in Asha more than me. I'd say that if ol' Damon was there, he'd turn back in a heartbeat". To hammer his point, Ban beat the tip of the stone with his index finger. Well, what remained of the stone plate: now Ban'd understood where Damon's got his strength and occasional temper from. The beast practically crashed into the bar, his attitude irksome. He had been stiffed of a payment, and had been forced to end his clients life. Not that it mattered, the bar here had always had some ability to cheer him up. In fact, the beast came here on an almost daily basis, deciding to drown his sorrows in a lot of alcohol. He walked in and noticed the bartender, the head cook, and some other man. He noticed the crushed area. Did the man do something to irk the cook? Croconon tossed those thoughts out of his head, he simply walked up to the bar, and gestured toward Vodki. "You got any Spirytus Rektyfikowany left?" he asked, his voice like two chainsaws grinding against one another. "Ah, Croc!" Amartin voiced, somewhat annoyed that one of his regulars interrupted quite a good conversation, though he didn't let it slip through his voice. "Comin' right up!" He held a bottle in his hand, with nearly clear, silver-toned liquid within it. He poured a notably big glass for something with so much alcohol content — considering it is illegal to serve in most places — but this particular customer didn't seem to care. "Anythin' else you want?" The Reptilinoid shook his head, taking a swig of the drink as well. "I'll be fine. You guys...can keep talking. I got information to sell anyways." he responded, taking yet another swig of the drink, now rendering half empty. He nodded towards Vodki, and then Helena. He didn't make such a gesture towards Ban. "Have a good day." he said, beginning to make his way to one of his customers. Helena crossed her arms as Ban began to... explain himself. She didn't even need Haki to tell that he was trying to be as calm as possible, she thought of him as smart. Most people would just try and force the information out of her. At least, this turn of events made Helena feel slightly relieved. She nodded at some of Ban's statements, Damon truly didn't like meaningless bloodshed... and if this guy knew that, even when Damon was the Sin of Wrath, maybe, just maybe, he was her son's friend. Frowing, Helena decided that she really wanted to believe him, judging his words and the sincerity in them. She did remember Ariel's powers clearly, as they steemed from a Devil Fruit, things which aren't foreign to her. Helena sighed, she saw and heard a lot when working in the Isle, having fed people from all around the globe throughout the years. As Helena was about to respond to Ban, that Crocodile man, a recurrent costumer, approached the balcony, swiftly interrupting her. Her mouth hung open and one eyebrow cocked up as Croconon, she recognized, just went off with his beer. Only then... an idea passed through Helena's mind, making both her eyebrows duck as she stared at the beast. She glanced back at Ban, "If I had to be short and straight with you, my son has only passed by to inform me of what happened. He didn't say anything else." Helena held her right arm with her left hand, looking down, she truly wished Damon had told her more. But, maybe, she was just being selfish. She had been absent for most of his life, after all. Rubbing her temple as she rose her left hand, Helena steeled her resolve and laid out her thoughts at Ban, "Maybe Croconon-kun has got something for you." Helena said, her tone completely calm as of now, as she stared at Ban with a serious face. “Thank a lot, ma’am”. Ban rubbed the sunglasses lens with his designated cleaning cloth, to wield'em crystal clear again. While not a particularly good bullshitter, he could pick up lies on the fly quite well, and Draco’s momma sounded really clean and sincere. Another thing that Helena and her boy seemed to share. Before getting up, he left few bucks on the counter. “If you can do me a favor, wait to give me m’plate until I finish talkin’ with the crocodile. I hate eating cold steaks”. While approaching the Reptilonoid, Ban let out a sigh: his presence as a Sin had left somehow out of the touch with the most sordid parts of the Underworld, but he could recognize troubles standing in front of him. No doubt that Draco’s momma was much fiercer and dangerous than she looked; still, Ban had difficulties in believing she was as nearly as dangerous as a twenty foot-plus tool crocodile man, built and armored like a freaking tank. Croconon-''kun'', as the lovely Helena just called him, had all the look and the attitude of a killer beast on his daily break. He was acting civil all in all, but no doubt he could rip all meat from your bones and than crunch said bones faster than a pack of rabid wolverines at the slightest provocation. On one hand, Croconon was the absolute worst kind of costumer Ban had to deal with; on the other, the duelist was sure a fight against him would be hella fun. The bigger and meaner they looked, the more Ban loved to smack 'em down on the ground, crying for their mommas. As he reached the green wall of muscles and scales completely enveloping his costumer, Ban spoke. “Sorry to interrupt ya- Croconon, but I’ve got somethin’ to ask ya. I know ya trade information, so I’d like to pay for some. What do you know about the current whereabouts of Helena’s son? I am talking of Damon D. Draco, the one known as “Asura”. He’s the new rookie of the Titan Pirates, but that’s all I’ve currently got. If ya kindly tell me more…” Croconon quickly turned back around at the mention of money. He stared down at man, evaluating him. "How much are you willing to pay me?" the Reptilinoid asked. Croconon awaited the man's response. He knew that if he was asking for information of such value, Ban should have a hefty amount of Belly on him. To comply with the request, Ban put out of a cheque from a rather modest and drab carnet, then a small piece of his Vivre card, which he showed to Croconon. "You can exhibit this cheque in any bank of Asha, along with the Vivre Card, to earn a lot of cash. The sum indicated there amounts to good ol' 10.000.000. of bucks. Now tell me what I've asked ya, pretty please". The beast turned his attention to Ban. The promise of money had intrigued him. 10,000,000 was a lot of money, and that Vivre Card wasn't any less. But, Croconon knew that this information must be of some high importance if he was willing to pay this much. He stood next to the purple-haired man and chuckled, a sound as if two wooden boards had been slammed against another. "Ya see," the creature began, taking a swig of his drink. "You're willing to pay a lot for this information, from what I can tell. Gimme an additional 40,000,000 on top of this, and I'll see if my memory's able to recollect anything." “''Excuse me?” Ban was genuinely flabbergasted. Or maybe not; honestly, given Croconon's job, it was kinda predictable that crocodile in front of him was quite the hungry shark when talkin' about payments. Give 'em one finger, and they'll go straight to the whole arm. The duelist grunted, took by doubt. He knew very well that the mission was crucial for the survival of Asha, that it was selfish to jeopardize everything just for mere money... But dammit... 50 milions of Beli were still 50 goddamn milions of Beli, ''for fuck sake! It was not that Ban was like Rika, who she could swim and take showers with all the cash took by just a single day of obols and extorsions. Sure, Ban's wins in tournaments and duels and earned him quite the money; unfortunately, he had already flushed quite a lot of it in fine women and alcohol. Thinking of his own past wins, an Eureka popped in Ban's mind. The solution was goddamn obvious: he was a professional fighter, and would have solved his monetary problem by fighting his way through. The easiest way out, and the most exciting too, given the apparent toughness of the large sack of reptile meat in front of him. “Well, Croco-''pal''”. Ban came closer to the enormous Reptilonoid, his lips curled in the wiry smile of a cat. “I've got lot of cash, but 50.000.000 is an hella greedy request. So, I'd like to make a deal with ya. We're gonna have a little brawl to decide how much I'm gonna pay. If you win, I'll give ya 100,000,000 of bucks, doubling my your sum; if I win, you'll stick to just 1,000,000. Sounds fine, doesn't it?” Ban nodded his head, which made his neck cracking a bit for the tension. His right hand was already hitching, ready to grab his wooden sword and gettin' in a brawl. Croconon smiled. Bet's had always interested him, mainly because of the money he'd make. Croconon was somewhat wary. Ban asked for the fight, so he must have some weapon in mind. Some way to defeat the Reptilinoid. He laughed, patting his hand down on the bar, cracking it. "You've intrigued me, purple-hair." the beast began, cracking his knuckles which made a rather disgusting sound. "Let's do this shit." "Hell yeah, Croco-''man''!" Doing the first move for Ban wasn't quite the best shit; that goddam Crocodile had a sure advantage in size and strength over the swordsman, being so freaking tall he could almost stomp on Ban with his feet, if he desired. A reckless move means pain, defeat, and a lotta mauled limbs. Not quite as bad as being murdered on spot- Ban's account was, by express provision of his contract, to be frozen if the Sin should ever croak, but a terrible perspective nonetheless. As a rule of thumb, beefcakes tend to be slower than average. Perhaps Ban could best Croconon in agility, avoiding his sloppy moves, sliding through his guard and wack him in his underbelly. Unfortunately, that was the New World, a place where grown-up boys looking like big, immovable mountains of fat and muscles can suddenly turn in freaking hurricanes and start to smash everything on their path with the blitzing pace of a freaking train on cocaine, if there exists an equivalent for trains. Better to ascertain if the Reptilonoid was slow as as tortoise or fast as wrecking ball before going on full mano-e-mano. The terrain offered Ban more than few chances to so do; before engaging the crocodile man, Ban had sketched somewhat of map of all the bar, taking notes on how what were the best spots for defense, offense, and hiding like shit. While keeping his guard on Croconon, Ban made few steps backward, the made a vertical leap, not to strike the beast from the above, but to land on table right behind him, where costumers had just left after consuming a rather scrumptious meal. Ban struck a bunch empty of glasses, plates and liquors with the groove of his wooden katana. Makeshift projectiles made of potter, glass and metal, flying their way to the Crocodile puggy-as-fuck face like baseballs hit by an expert pitcher. “Come on, Croco-''lad''! Show me whatta y'got! Strike me down, if y'can!” He teased the huge Reptilonoid, while continuing his bombardment. A rather harmless barrage, unless one count as damage having their face get dirtied by scraps of cannelloni and asparagus; but feasible as a distraction, to get Croconon lower his guard for a whoop-ass, should he be slow enough on his feet. That's Okay A lot of days had passed since those ruckus that almost shook Stepping Isle. Helena took her apron aside, sitting atop a table in the middle of the restaurant's kitchen. It was already very late, evident by the darkness outside, many of the Cooks were on their quarters or downright left. She didn't have much to do, maybe she could ask Kauim if he had any copies of all those newspaper. Helena ended up missing most of them, but of course, if she asked, it would be easy. Puru puru puru puru... Helena blinked, hearing the sound of her Den Den Mushi, which was inside her pants' left pocket. Puru puru puru puru- Kacha. "Mom?!" A young voice beamed from the other side of the line. Helena's eyes widened, she gripped the Den Den Mushi tighter. "S-Sonny?" The snail acquired his soft features, "I'm so glad to hear from ya!!" Her eyes watered a small bit. "Same mom!!" He replied, "I got my first bounty just today-" Beat, "Wha?!" Helena's eyes budged out of their sockets, he too had gotten a bounty? Helena shot up from where she at, landing swiftly with her feet on the floor. Before any other words left her mouth, a call ringed from outside the kitchen, coming from the balcony. There stood an elderly couple. No one sat in the balcony, damnit. Helena said, "Oh no, sorry sonny, clients have come up." Just like it always happened, "Oh..." The Den Den Mushi's smile fell, "That's okay, mom!" He tried maintaining the cheer in his voice, "I'll just call you another time! Kiss," For a second, the snail's lips curved down. "Kiss," Helena smiled, followed by the Den Den Mushi's Katcha as it laid to rest before her. She dug her apron from wherever she trew it and sighed, "We'll have some time soon Dan." Helena said to herself, having wrapped the apron and greeting the couple outside the kitchen. Just another day with a mom skipping her sons' activities. Stepping Isle was sure crowded. FIN Category:Ash9876 Category:DamonDraco Category:Tabor gorilla Category:Role-Plays Category:Finished Role-Plays